


Veritaserum

by S3C



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, But no, Confessions of love, FUCK, I dont fucking know - Freeform, I suppose, M/M, doing fuck all, i should be revising, im here, im really fucking tired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-20
Updated: 2014-05-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 22:11:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1664300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/S3C/pseuds/S3C
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire can't conjure a patronus, and is failing his Defense Against the Dark Arts class, so Enjolras steps in to help him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Veritaserum

**Author's Note:**

> Im not even entirely sure what this is, it just.. happened.  
> sorry if my Harry Potter knowledge is somewhat lacking, i havent read the books in years. If I'm wrong please correct me.
> 
> R is in Gryffindor  
> E is in Slytherin but doesn't wear his tie because he declares it to be stereotypical and all that jazz.

 

From his bed, R watched out of his window, watched the lake and the mountains beyond, barely visible past the glare of the crimson setting sun. Everyone else was at dinner; he could hear the faint clatter carried on the breeze that floated through the age old halls. Nobody would miss him. Nobody ever did. He watched the line between the shade and the sun sweep the school and the grounds as the sun dipped below the mountains, casting the world into darkness. At first he didn’t notice he was crying. But then his nose sniffed and made him aware of his current state, and he flushed with shame, scrubbing the tears away with the heel of his hand. His breath stalled in his throat, warm and humid, as he heard the door squeak on its hinges, giving way to whomever was pushing on the other side.

“R?” Enjolras poked his blonde head round the door, curls flopping in his eyes. Grantaire would continually marvel at his voice. Not once has he heard him shout, yet his voice can amass the attention of a whole room, if he wishes it. He always speaks so softly, as though the very air around him might break, as though he is delivering the word of God himself.

“You weren’t at dinner again, so I thought I’d… are you okay?”

At the concern in his lilting voice, fresh tears dribbled down Grantaire’s cheeks. He thought that all the times he had skipped dinner, nobody had noticed, or that they had noticed and just not cared. But Enjolras noticed. Of course he noticed.

“R, what’s wrong?” Enjolras rushed to his side so that he could throw his arms around his friend. “Tell me what’s wrong, R.”

“Nothing, nothing’s wrong.” Grantaire promised quickly. Enjolras pulled back and frowned at him.

“I don’t like it when people lie to me.” He stated, eyebrows drawn together.

“It’s no big deal.” R shuffled away, immediately missing the warmth of Enjolras beside him. He didn’t remain bereft for very long though, because Enjolras followed him, pressing into his side.

“It’s obviously a big deal if it’s bothering you.” He reached out absently to catch a stray tear as it traced the side of R’s face.

“It’s just that, um, I’m sorta failing my Defence Against the Dark Arts class at the moment.” R sniffed, and tried to prepare himself. He wasn’t sure what he was preparing for. Maybe for Enjolras to laugh at him, and tell him he was stupid, or for him to tell him to grow up and stop being so pathetic. What he wasn’t prepared for was for Enjolras to wrap his arms back round him and whisper apologies and reassurances in his ear.

“Is there any way I can help you?” He asked after a while.

R snorted. “Not unless you can teach me how to conjure a patronus.”

“Is that all? You’re failing because you can’t conjure a patronus?” Enjolras asked a little incredulously. R nodded miserably, toying with the corner of his duvet.  
“But that’s not fair! Surely they can’t _fail_ you for not being able to conjure a patronus; it’s a very difficult thing to do, it is very complex and many qualified wizards and witches have trouble with it. And there are so many other things you’re really good at!” R smiled to himself, lying back on the bed as he watched Enjolras rant, the words going straight over his head, but he made sure to memorise every movement of his flushed lips, so that he could draw it later, when Enjolras had left and he could mope in peace. Not that he wanted Enjolras to leave of course; he never wanted Enjolras to leave. Suddenly it became apparent to him that Enjolras’ mouth had stopped moving, and he was watching him expectantly, waiting for an answer.

“Umm… no?” R tried, flushed with embarrassment.

“You weren’t listening.” Enjolras pouted, waiting for R’s apology before he continued his tirade at full speed.  R watched him for a few more moments, lulled into a dreamlike state, until he was heaved back to reality by Enjolras’ hand on his knee, and the words: “Anyway, I’m going to teach you.”

“Teach me?” R threw up his hands. Even my professor can’t ‘teach me’. I’m useless, I can’t do it and I won’t ever be able to.” He turned over and buried his face in his pillow.

“You’re not useless R. Not at all. You could pour veritaserum down my throat, and I would still tell you that. You are not useless.” Enjolras swore. “And as for ‘I can’t do it’, well, there’s no such word as ‘can’t’.”

Enjolras waiting patiently whilst Grantaire rooted under the bed, flicked to the right page of his dictionary, and presented Enjolras with it. Enjolras observed the page for a moment, made a small noise of acknowledgement, and then turned and hit R over the head with it.

“You’re an ass.” He informed him affectionately.

“I know.” Grantaire grinned back.

 

Moments later, Enjolras was up on his feet, modelling the correct stance, wand out as he announced the spell, flicking it artfully. Wisps of silver burst from the end of his wand, curling and snaking in the air.

“I can only create a non-corporeal patronus.” He coloured slightly. “But it should be enough for you to pass the class. Right, so, think of your best memory, your happiest memory.” Enjolras waited keenly for R to stand up and do as he was told, and his face fell visibly when it appeared that it was going to be a little more difficult than that. “R stand up.” He ordered, grasping his hand and pulling him to his feet. “Now, happy memories, powerful memories.”

“That’s the point, Enj, I don’t have ‘happy memories’.”  He sneered, throwing his arms up.

“Are you sure? I mean, you’ve got to have _something._ ”

“Well I don’t. Nothing in my life has been _happy_.”

"There's got to be at least one, R?" Enjolras looked desperate. He looked as though he wanted R to succeed. But that was preposterous.

"Well there isn't." He flumped back down on the bed, exhaling deeply. "Don't bother trying."

"If I never bothered trying, I'd never succeed." Enjolras informed him stubbornly. “What memory do you use currently?” He asked when R continued to ignore him. “Grantaire. If you do not get up this instant I will sneak into the girls’ dorm, eat all of that muggle candy Eponine loves and tell her you did it.” Enjolras threated. R froze, face still planted in the pillows, considering slowly.

“Well played.” He mumbled eventually, and sat up. “The best thing I’ve got is when I was down by the lake in my first year, skimming stones.

“That’s not great…” Enjolras considered, coming to join R on the bed.

“Well it’s the best I’ve got.” Grantaire replied snarkily.

“Why don’t you get a new one?” Enjolras suggested tentatively.

“Get a new one? You imbecile, you can’t just ‘get’ a euphoric memory, you can’t just go down to the corner shop and look at them all lined up in jars like swe…” Grantaire was cut off suddenly and for a moment he couldn’t understand why his lips could no longer form words. Enjolras was leaning forward to close the slight gap between them, lips pressed against R’s, soft and dry with the lingering taste of the toffee sponge he had for pudding. His eyes were closed, and Grantaire could see his blonde eyelashes, fluttering slightly, curved up to meet the last of the sun streaming through the mullioned window. His nose was bumping carelessly against Enjolras’ and both their hands were clenched awkwardly at their sides. R could feel hot burst like fireworks going off inside his brain, butterflies swirling round his stomach. Enjolras didn’t mean this. In a few moments he was going to push away and pretend this never happened, but for now R was going to let himself pretend, allow himself the liberty of imaging that he the soft lips pushing against his were _his_ , forever. A bubbling, exhilarated hysteria surged into him as Enjolras pulled away, cheeks flushed in embarrassment, face screwed up in anticipation.  R let out a long, shaky breath and offered a weak smile, causing Enjolras face to relax and grin back.

“Try now.” He whispered. R got to his feet gingerly, reciting the incantation, trying to replicate those few moments in his mind, and staring wide eyed as strings of silver burst from the end of his wand, taking on the shape of a glittering swan, gliding through the air, leaving a white hot trail of light behind it. It turned to look at them, turning its head to one side before dissipating in an eruption of sparkles.

R turned back to Enjolras with a breathless, disbelieving laugh. Enjolras laughed along, jumping to his feet to cast the same spell, jolting back slightly in surprise as his patronus became a magnificent lion, padding stealthily between the beds before shattering in a burst of light. Enjolras let out a startled laugh, still watching where the lion had once been. The collapsed into dizzy laughter on the bed, entangled with one another. Enjolras ended up lying on top of R, looking down upon him.

“E.” Grantaire started and looked as though he was unsure how to finish.

“What is it?” Enjolras blinked rapidly in equal parts concern and horror. “

“Did, um, earlier, did you, urh… mean… that..?” Grantaire had snuck his hand up to his mouth and was tearing at his fingernails with his slightly yellowed teeth. Enjolras huffed a laugh despite himself, taking R’s hand in his own and pulling it away from his mouth.

“I love you, ‘Taire.  You could pour veritaserum down my throat, and my answer would be the same.”

**Author's Note:**

> Im really sorry i cant write kisses to save my life  
> Im just generally really sorry about the state of this fic actually  
> i am so tired.  
> come cry with me on tumblr over beautiful dead revolutionaries if you wish.


End file.
